


Alone

by MangaBitch



Category: Vinland Saga (Anime)
Genre: Affection, Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Anger, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Assassination Plot(s), Bedrooms, Biting, Blankets, Broken Families, Brother-Sister Relationships, Candles, Canon Rewrite, Canonical Character Death, Carrying, Character Death, Childhood, Childhood Trauma, Children, Cold Weather, Comfort, Conflict, Confrontations, Confusion, Crying, Daddy Issues, Death, Denial, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Family Loss, Father-Son Relationship, Fear, Feels, Fights, Fluff and Angst, Forced Bonding, Grief/Mourning, Heart-to-Heart, Heartache, Heartbreak, Hiding, Hugs, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, I Made Myself Cry, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry, Iceland, Internal Conflict, Late Night Conversations, Late at Night, Literal Sleeping Together, Loss, Loss of Parent(s), Mental Breakdown, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Mother-Son Relationship, My First Work in This Fandom, Nightmares, Ocean, Panic, Past Lives, Platonic Cuddling, Precognition, Protective Siblings, Rage, Reveal, Running Away, Sad, Self-Reflection, Shame, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room, Shock, Shock & Awe, Sibling Love, Siblings, Single Parents, Sleepiness, Sleepy Cuddles, Snow, Sobbing, Surprises, Survivor Guilt, Swords, Talking, Tears, Teenagers, Temper Tantrums, The Author Regrets Everything, Vikings, Visions in dreams, Waiting, What Have I Done, What-If, Why Did I Write This?, Winter, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:20:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29561802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MangaBitch/pseuds/MangaBitch
Summary: What if Thorfinn never sneaked aboard his fathers boat? What if he stayed home awaiting his return with the knife? What if he learned of his fathers death upon their fleet returning home with Leif? How would Thorfinn's fate be changed?
Relationships: Helga & Thorfinn (Vinland Saga), Helga/Thors (Vinland Saga), Thorfinn & Ylva (Vinland Saga), Thorfinn/Thors (Vinland Saga)
Kudos: 1





	Alone

Thorfinn sat upon his bed, his brown eyes bright with enthusiasm and wonder, he knew he should be long since asleep, resting for another long day of helping on the farm. Milking their sheep, tending to the hay, helping his mother before he went to play with his friends again. Yet he couldn't sleep, his mind a blur of thoughts, fixating on what the answer may be so he could finally know peace. Gripping his treasure close to him, protecting it as though if he closed his eyes it would vanish. The gleam of his father's knife in the candlelight, the treasure he had found while rummaging among his old war belongings. Though he knew it was impolite to go rummaging through his father's old armour without consent his curiosity couldn't be ignored. Remembering how angry his father had been to know he had rudely intruded on his personal belongings but more so to see his son to eager to use a weapon. His childhood naivety unable to understand the power of the object he held in his hand. His father had knelt beside him, his eyes sharp, cold and intense, he didn't raise his voice, he didn't strike him and he didn't make him cry. His body language remained calm, his eyes remained solemn and he merely came down to his sons level to speak to him. His hands placed firmly on his son's shoulders, large, heavy and worn, sharing his wisdom with his son.

" _You have no enemies Thorfinn"_

His father's words remained alien to him, they were Vikings, weapons and tools were common knowledge, how to hunt, how to plough the field, how to gather fish, how to plant grains. Their lives were hardworking, protecting their lands, defending their people from raiders. Making sure nobody robbed their livestock, how to gather food etc. But more so, battle was in their blood, steel, destruction, their ships. Facing the storms, defending their lands, how to kill your enemy, how to protect your family, how could one have no enemies? Danger hid around every corner, even in the most peaceful places one needed to be on guard for any potential problems. Which made his confusion develop further as he pondered the meaning, wondering how anyone could fight without a sword and win. His father never wielded a weapon, an aversion to using them against anyone, but he was undoubtedly a strong warrior. His father had always been someone he admired deeply, someone so kind yet full of such power and earned so much respect from their fellow villagers. How would someone become a great warrior without a sword? Thorfinn sighed curiously, placing the blade back into the protective sheath carefully and placing it under his pillow to conceal it. He knew his father would come looking for it when he came back, meaning he would have to explain himself. But until now it was his precious secret that he could admire when he was alone. He slid from his bed quietly and opened the front door, the cold winter air blasting his cheeks with the same wintery tingle. He wandered out into the snow, bright-eyed and curious, hoping to entertain himself until his father came home. To ask him of his great battle, the frightening foes and what the voyage aboard the boat was like.

* * *

Thorfinn wandered through the snow reflectively, the echoing silence of winter surrounding him, admiring the winter landscape around him. His feet submerging into the depths of fresh powder, forming footsteps that led away from the safety of his home. Soon he found a safe space to observe his surroundings in peace, sitting amongst the tree-line as he gazed out towards the lands of his hometown. The distant sound of sheepdogs, people clamoring as they went about their daily lives awaiting their family members to return. Gazing at the shore, the horizon, where his father's ship had departed from, where he would be returning to. The sun beaming down from the sky, the blueness of the sky hanging above them, the distant cry of birds flying to nowhere. Nature in its most calm, the passing of time lost to him, simply another moment he was living through. Waiting for the moment he would catch sight of his ship, bounding through the hills of white until he was back in his father's arms again. Maybe then he would finally get the answer he sought.

* * *

Hours seemed to bleed into each other, Thorfinn's eyes soon beginning to sting from the cold and lack of moisture. But he pushed it to the back of his mind, refusing to give up until his patience paid off. He couldn't miss even a second, one mistake would cause him to lose attention of watching out for his fathers ship. Waiting in his hiding place, waiting for his father's ship to arrive, knowing there was nothing he could do to make things go any faster. That familiar swell of joy being able to reunite with his father after long-term separation. Sitting around the fire with a hot meal, eagerly listening to his fathers stories with open ears. But his father never seemed to appear, no warm smile, no calloused hands to ruffle his head and reach out to grasp his own. Instead the home remained empty of his fathers presence, his mother and sister simply passing their days waiting for Thors to come home.

* * *

_Thorfinn felt as though he couldn't breathe, his heart in his throat, salty tears piercing his eyes and spilling down his cheeks. He hadn't felt so weak and helpless in his life, wishing he was stronger so he could join the battle and protect his father._ _His voice a high pitched scream, trapped like a mouse under the heavy paw of a giant cat, a blade to his neck, the sharpness of the metal dancing close to his neck. His mind realising that this could be his end, he could die in this place._ _An older, larger male with long brown hair and a helmet, pinning him down to the ground, rendering him unable to escape_

_He stared frantically across his father's ship to witness his father wielding his blade, an ominously calm expression on his face._ _He tried to call out for his father, but no voice came, only silent screams. No matter how much he tried to flee, tried to warn his father, his efforts proved in vain. He thrashed and fought as hard as he could, but nothing he could do made a difference._ _Before he could attempt to struggle free, time seemed to stop and his world fell apart._ _A barrage of arrows rained down from the sky like miniature blades of death, hidden figures atop the hills aimed their weapons directly at his father._ _Piercing his father's body, blood pooling from him yet he stood tall and proud. His eyes showed no pain, no fear, no rage, merely acceptance, u_ _nfazed by the severity of his wounds._ _He screamed and screamed for his father, yet his voice couldn't reach him, telling him to run, telling him to watch out, telling him to escape. Wishing he could make his wounds disappear, wishing he could warn him of the danger he faced._

_Thors turned to his son, his brown eyes gentle and welcoming, not a single sound of pain escaped his lips, he didn't cry nor did he show shame. He stared at the sky, to their gods, watching the sun dance through the clouds. Taking his last breaths, ignoring the pain that flashed through his body in waves. The light in his eyes growing cold, the warmth of his skin fading as blood pooled out of him._ _Smiling warmly towards him, a sense of calmness and acceptance on his features._

* * *

"a…. papa!... PAPA!... PAPA!" Thorfinn screamed repetitively, his voice a pleading beg of desperation. Praying his father would hear his voice, have the common sense to realise the danger and fight his enemies. That he would make it home alive, that this was all a delusion formed by his young mind. Tossing and struggling frantically under the sheets, trying to free himself, desperate to protect his father. Anything that would make the dream a lie, that his fears were false and life would return to normal. Hot tears spilling down his cheeks onto his pillow, his throat raw and sore from screaming. Clawing at the air like a wild animal, trying to tear these thoughts from his head, hoping that these were lies his mind had accumulated from his inner doubts.

There was a dip in the bed as a warm body rolled towards him, torn from sleep from his cries. At first sensing that he may simply need the toilet, but became concerned when she heard the desperation in his tone. Knowing he would wake their mother otherwise and cause her worry, their mother needed rest due to her frail health. Though she was known for her calmness and love of her family, Helga had a strong temper that even their father was wary of. She too was tired, she too needed her sleep, but she couldn't ignore her brothers fear and panic. "Thorfinn, stop screaming, Þetta er bara draumur, þú ert öruggur" Ylva soothed softly, rubbing her eyes of sleep. Thorfinn had experienced bad dreams before, he was a child, it was a natural part of adolescence, sometimes the mind took information whether it was observed or overheard somehow and formed scenarios and memories into the mind that never happened. Thorfinn was a very energetic and curious child, eager to learn, eager to grow, so dreams were something he experienced often. But she had never experienced one so severe, so full of terror, confusion and desperation. He was still trapped in the dream, unaware that he was back to reality, eyes wide with fear, as though he had witnessed something horrific. Tears spilling down his cheeks like fresh rain, pouring onto their pillow and soaking it, track marks forming onto his cheeks, eyes red from crying so hard. Thrashing and kicking like a wild beast in a trap, desperate to be freed, blocking out all sound around him.

Ylva wrapped her arms around her brother affectionately, as loud and problematic as her brother could behave, she loved him. His tantrums, impatience, restlessness, all of it stemmed from his youth and desire to be like his father, a strong, powerful Viking and leader. Thorfinn fought because he hated being weak, he hated being teased and he hated feeling useless. Though a generally curious and friendly child, he had bouts of hostile rage and rebellion that frightened other children. He failed to recognise or accept his weakness, that he was still but a child and was yet to grow up, that he had so much in life yet to experience. She nuzzled against his head, breathing in his scent, remembering when Thorfinn was born, helping her mother through the birth, helping get the hot water and towels. He came into the world screaming, his passion never seeming to falter.

"Papa… he was…. There was a man…. I couldn't move. Papa was… he was pierced by arrows, so many, I couldn't stop it. There was another man, they called him Askeladd, he… he was there…" Thorfinn stammered weakly. This man overlooked his fathers death, he was the one to take him on in battle, he put up a good fight and was indeed skilled. But he couldn't compare to his father, the Troll of Jomm. He showed great admiration for his father, but ultimately he was responsible for the vision that he observed. His voice whimpered, got thinner as it began to break as fresh sobs threatened to erupt, he just couldn't shake the memory from his mind. The scent of steel, fear and saltwater. Trapped on a boat while the other companions could only watch in horror and heartbreak.

Ylva tightened her arms around her baby brother, her blue eyes gentle and calm, like the sea before a storm. She knew he wouldn't settle easily, she would be awake for some time until he fell asleep. She had to keep things stable, she was the glue holding her family together, their father was relying on her to keep them safe. Sighing heavily and wrapping him into a cocoon and cuddling him close to her, rubbing his back to comfort him. "Father is fine, journeys are long and he is capable, it's expected. We cannot predict the weather or what dangers they face, we can only await them to come back" Ylva reassured him.

"But…" Thorfinn protested, how could she know? What if she was wrong? What if father needed their help while he was stuck here? He couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen. What if what he had seen was a premonition of his fathers fate? They needed to send help, they needed to rescue him. He couldn't ignore the gnawing feeling in his gut that something bad was to happen. Dragging him from the comfort of sleep, wide awake with anxiety.

"Father can handle himself, he's not called the Troll for no reason. Like Lief always says, the water can freeze over trapping the ships, they may have hit a storm, rough seas aren't uncommon. They may restock, anything could have happened" Ylva reminded him. Frozen waters, large icebergs, being stranded in a storm and being thrown off course, needing to restock on supplies, such things happened. She too worried of her fathers safety, she worried of her family returning, knowing that Ari proposed to her before his departure. But she had to force herself to deter these thoughts, they couldn't fall apart now. Ylva pulled the blanket over them and continued to hold her brother, waiting for sleep to overcome them and allow them to return to peaceful dreaming. Awaiting a new day that would bring their family together again. Her gaze fixated on the dancing flicker of the candle flame perched on their bedside dresser. Her brother was so young, but he was no fool, but she needed to protect him, despite her anxieties as they awaited their father's return.

* * *

Lief stood with his head bowed outside Thors home, his hands balled into fists as the shame washed through him in waves. He hated having to return home like a coward, knowing he had failed in a mission, being blindsided and overpowered. Those men had no honour, they were brutes, none of them would get into Valhalla for they lacked honour. He couldn't protect his friend, he hadn't been able to stop them, none of them could have predicted the reason for why they were asked to loan their ships in battle. The entire thing had been a plot on behalf of the Jomsvikings, making up lies in order to allude his trust and gain men to weaken their forces. The treachery of Thors upon abandoning his post due to Ylva's birth and no longer wishing to be involved in the brutality of battle. Seeing it as shameful that he abandoned his post as Captain by taking the cowards way out, causing people to believe he had perished. Thors escaped with his wife, having just birthed Ylva and travelled to Iceland, realising that his daughters life was more precious than to face battle repetitively. No more bloodshed, no more unnecessary violence and no more destruction, leaving his old life behind him, nobody ever knowing the truth of what truly occurred. There they lived in peace on a farm for many years, later conceiving and giving birth to Thorfinn. Raising his children peacefully, away from violence and war, yet such stories were bound to follow from his past. Something he would never truly escape was the legacy he left behind. They had travelled to where the battle was to commence, later being surprised with an ambush plotted by Floki, biter at the fact that Thors had abandoned his post like a coward, abandoned his responsibility and his men, escaping instead of dying with honour in battle. Thors had become weary from battle, his heart no longer choosing that path, leaving that life behind. Floki had acquired the help of a thug for hire named Askeladd who had killed Thors himself, they had not taken the abandonment well, tracking down Thors for years before locating him. Choosing to trick Thors and destory one of the strongest and most respected Vikings ever known. The punishment for his crimes was his death, bombarded with arrows by hidden archers, causing him to bleed to death and his body returned to his home to be burned on a pyre.

Helga stood by the stove in silence, her hand still tightly gripping the wooden spoon that stirred the pot, her blue eyes flickered with a flash of pain, becoming glassy with unshed tears yet she remained unmoving and expressionless. The crackle of the fire filling in the echoing silence in their hut, the tension so thick you could cut it with an axe. Her husband whom she married while he was still a Jommsviking, wedded to the strongest warrior as an honour, the man with whom she soon fell deeply in love with and came to respect. The man whom had always taken care of her and respected her, the man with whom she conceived Ylva with while he was still a mercenary. The man who sacrificed his safety to live in peace so they may raise their children. The man who owned her heart, gave her freedom and taught her there was more to life than the thrill of battle. He was dead, his light had been snuffed out like a candle, the love of her life had been killed like a dog by his spiteful troupes due to his choices. She felt as though her chest was tightening, she couldn't breathe, an emptiness and pain like no other began to form inside of her, choking her like smoke.

Ylva's eyes flashed with silent rage, gripping her hands into balled fists as her gaze became steely, biting her lip yet she spoke not a word as an ominous aura radiated from her. Everything she had told Thorfinn last night, her words of comfort, reassuring him that their father would come home, now she was a liar and a fool. It seems Thorfinn's dream had been a premonition, warning them of what was to come. At least they had been able to bring his body home, thus they could burn it on a funeral pyre in honour of his memory. Trying to distract herself with more logs for the fire, her hands twitching with impatience as she forced herself to remain calm, her walls collapsing around her.

The silence was soon broken by the sounds of her brothers protests, "LIARS! You cowards! Father can't be gone! You left him to die! You must have, there's no way!" Thorfinn screamed, his rage filling the room with a piercing cry. That had merely been a bad dream, a delusion formed of his own anxieties, not a premonition of a painful truth. If he could just wake up he would open his eyes to find the welcoming smile of his father walking through their door. His brown eyes pooling with tears as he glared down Leif and the remaining crew outside his door. His father was a strong warrior, nobody could beat him, he was an ex member of the Jomsvikings, he was their captain, he was a powerful man and deeply respected. How could someone like him fall so easily? They had to have abandoned him, how could he have lost? His chest felt empty, an ache that formed a darkness inside of him that filled him with misery. His father's warm smile, his booming voice, he would never hear that again, all the times his father had ruffled or patted his head would never happen again. Disbelief that their conversation over the sword was the last thing he would ever hear. He bolted through the front door, ducking underneath the scurry of legs and into the white powder of snow, ignoring the yells and cries for him to come back. Ignoring the protests and apologies that spewed from their mouths. Tears blinding him as he escaped into the silence of the winter, baring his teeth like fangs as he restrained the scream that threatened to escape.

Ylva ran after her brother without hesitation, pushing past Ari and bolting in his direction. She knew this would happen inevitably, her brothers dream, his nightmare, his tears from last night. She knew he would blame himself for not warning his father earlier, for not being able to prevent this from happening, wondering what it all meant. She couldn't leave him alone, knowing the harm that may befall him in this state, blind to all else around him. The sounds of Thorfinn's agonising screams echoed into the distance as Ylva's footsteps soon quieted as she ran deeper into the snow covered village.

Lief turned his gaze back to the house, towards Helga, a shame pooling in him that he had been the one to unveil this news. They would soon have to carry Thors body from the ship to be burned by his family ceremonially. His remains would remain in the home to be treasured and respected. But the loss, the grief, the heartbreak, this would not be forgotten so soon. Wishing he could have been a better friend, that he could have fought alongside Thors somehow and acted as his shield. Helga loosened her grip on the spoon, slowly pacing away from the stove and pacing around the kitchen in a daze. The room felt emptier, she felt sick, her hands wouldn't stop trembling and her heart felt as though it was being squeezed. White noise filled her ears, everything heightened, the cold of the outside no longer bothered her, as though she was in a dream. Soon buckling under the weight of her body, tears pooling and spilling down her cheeks as she leaned against the stone walls of their home, sobbing as the weight of her loss began to crush her. Her shoulders wracked as the tears pattered onto the floor, Leif entering the home to approach Helga, comforting her during her grief.

* * *

Ylva stormed through the snow, her gaze fixated on her baby brother as he continued to escape deeper into the winter, she knew nothing could convince him right now. He was a mess of rage, grief, confusion, sadness, fueling through him all at once like a fire. She needed to be the one to pull him back, he wouldn't listen to anyone else. She knew he'd keep running until he burned himself out. "Thorfinn, Thorfinn get back here!" she yelled sternly. Thorfinn wouldn't give in, running as fast as his legs would carry him but she saw them begin to buckle, his body was beginning to hit exhaustion. The shock of losing their father, his body hitting adrenaline and using up all of his energy at once, he would be running on fumes. Soon he would reach his limit and pass out, but he needed to see sense.

Ylva didn't give up, she was indeed her father's daughter, the trolls only female heir, her experience in tending to the cattle, doing chores and hunting had made her endurance and stamina higher than his. She was just as fast and as strong as her father before her, inheriting his strength and agility. She would be able to outrun Thorfinn, until he was older and able to finally learn how to fight, she was the victor here. She reached out her arm to grab him tightly by the forearm and yanked him to face her, dragging him towards her and preventing him from attempting to escape her. She knew he would keep fighting back until he finally passed out. Thorfinn span around to face her, his expression finally visible to her, his eyes wide with tears and rage, wild and conflicted. He finally appeared like a child, trapped in a strange and confusing situation, stumbling around looking for answers he would never be able to find. Screaming about how unfair this all was, but having to accept that there was nothing he could do to change it. A blind fury that clouded his judgement, wearing his heart on his sleeve for all to see. Glassy as tears spilt down his cheeks endlessly, flowing like a river down his face.

Ylva pulled her brother towards her before he could pull away, she knew he didn't want to hear these words, she knew he was angry and how painfully unfair it all was. But it was something he would need to accept, their father would never come home. Pressing him into her chest and cupping his head, cradling him into her bosom, soothing his broken spirit, comforting the rage and the pain inside of him. Her gaze fixated on the horizon, ignoring his struggles and protests, acting as a shield, holding him in place while she reflected empathically on how their lives would be effected in the outcome. Thorfinn kicked his sister's legs as hard as he could, using the heel of his foot to kick her thighs and lower legs in hopes of making her buckle, biting her arms that still unwavering remained wrapped around him. Gnawing his teeth into her, hoping she would flinch and release him, she winced as she felt his small body hammering against her, using the last of his strength to fight back, to vent his pain onto her somehow. His small teeth digging into her soft coat, her body aching slightly from his strength, biting her tongue as to hide her complaints at her brothers thrashing around. "Get off me! I don't need you! Ég hata þig, það er þér að kenna!" Thorfinn screamed furiously. Why was she holding him back? Why did she run after him? He needed answers, who was this man Askeladd who plotted to have their father killed? Was it one of the Vikings who visited their home? Who was the one responsible for stealing their father from them? Why wasn't she angry too? Was he the only one who cared?

Ylva remained unmoved, her grip around her brother only tightening the longer he resisted, he'd soon burn himself out and stop struggling. Wishing they could go back, so she could see her brothers innocent bright smile. Seeing him get into trouble for fighting too roughly with other village children and being scolded as always. She hated seeing him so broken, so lost, only time would heal these wounds. She knew he was hurting, she knew he was angry, so confused, so lost and so alone. "It's ok Thorfinn" she replied solemnly. She knew he needed to hear reassuring words even if he fought it, something to allow him to understand, so he could process the situation. She continued to repeat this calmly, merely holding him and stroking his back as his protests continued. He wasn't angry at her, he wasn't angry at Helga, he was angry at the world, himself and fate, that he couldn't reverse what had happened, that he couldn't make things better. Realising some men lacked honour, that some men fought dirty, that battle was crueler than he realised. Realising how unfair the world was and sometimes, as much as we wanted that wouldn't change. Angry that Lief didn't bring his father home, that someone killed their father, that he would never come home again, that his fathers friend had failed to protect him despite being his most loyal companion. That he would never get to see his father one last time, that their last conversation was an argument. That someone had resented their father so much they took his life. Soon the biting and kicks slowed, his body became heavy and the sobs began to wrack, his shoulders arching as his sobs escaped his body in loud screams. The rage ebbing from his body and forming into utter heartbreak. His strength-sapping from his body as the tears pooled down harder, soaking her clothes. Slumping into Ylva's arms, clinging to her tightly and sobbing louder, gripping her for support before his legs buckled beneath him. "Papa! PAPAAAAAA!" he screamed, his voice echoing through the silence of the village. His tears spilling onto her coat and dampening it, but she ignored it, relieved her brother had finally calmed, yet hated seeing him in such profound sadness. Knowing there was nothing she could do to make it better, only allow time to heal the wounds. She could always make a new coat, or she could dry it over the stove later.

Ylva cupped his head and sighed, her eyes becoming glassy as she bit back tears, her own resilience beginning to crumble as bitterness began to swell inside of her. She hated this, she hated feeling this way, though she knew it would eventually pass. The cold air stinging her eyes, forcing herself to blink back tears so he wouldn't notice. Her lip wobbling as her strength began to falter, feeling like a small trapped child, seeking answers despite knowing she would never find them. She cursed the gods for whatever punishment this was, for putting her family through this suffering, shattering their peaceful life without warning and forcing them to mend the fragments back together like clumsy fools. Thorfinn was merely seven years old, a child, still naïve and adolescent, he was still growing up, learning, forming imprints, emotional bonds. Making mistakes and memories that he would carry with him his whole life. Yet he was so angry at the world and confused as to how it worked, he wished to be strong and he idolized those he saw as a role model. Here she was a seventeen-year-old girl, the working hand on their family farm, the person her father relied on to act as a leader when he couldn't. Caring for her mother while their father was away, easing her mothers frail health and taking care of their home. Now she was not only her mother's carer but now a babysitter to her brother, the sole breadwinner of their clan, she was the one who would be making sure their home stayed stable. The one to teach Thorfinn how to be a man, a good warrior and raising him into a human being.

This had to be a sick universal joke of some kind, the gods were mocking them for some failure or mistake by making them endure this sadness. Her father had never been a perfect man, her mother had often told her this, but becoming a father had made him kinder, wiser. So why was he being punished for these mistakes now? She grit her teeth to bite back a bitter laugh, knowing she would crumble if she allowed herself to laugh. How could their father have been so foolish? Surely he would have the common sense the realise strings were being pulled, that something wasn't right, that he had enemies plotting for his demise. Why did he take on his enemies alone? How could he be led so blindly into an obvious trap? How could he have allowed himself to be defeated? Knowing his family would be waiting for him? That he would have angered and hurt them by being so selfish? She felt as angry, bitter and broken at their father for leaving her in the middle of this mess, in this unfair position, for making her the adult? She had plenty of mistakes she wished to make before she turned 20, now she had no time for those things anymore. But she couldn't cry and she couldn't scream to the heavens as Thorfinn could, she had to keep wearing the brave mask just a little while longer. She couldn't break down like Thorfinn as much as she wanted to, if he saw her cry now if he saw her crumble and scream, becoming a broken mess of tears and confusion, he would be frightened, he wouldn't know what to do. She couldn't let him see her like that.

* * *

Ylva cupped her hand under Thorfinn's bottom as he rested his head on her shoulder, silently allowing himself to be carried home. She had lost track of how long they had been sat in the snow, Thorfinn's cries weakening until his throat became hoarse and his energy depleted. The sky bleeding red and purple as the sun began to set and the night arrived. Exhausting himself from his tantrum and now in a hazed state of exhaustion and grief, the pain of losing their father had all but broken him. Ylva's eyes remained fixated on the cottage, her eyes watering as she felt her strength weakening, wishing she had asked her father for more advice. Prepared herself for what would occur when there came a time when he would no longer be around, leaving her the responsibility of providing for them. She just had to make it home, make it home and it would be over, then she could rest.

* * *

Ylva laid curled up beside a sleeping Thorfinn watching him rest while the aromatic scent of stew wafted up to her nose in a heavenly aroma, she was so tired when they finally returned home that she collapsed onto the bed with Thorfinn still in her arms and laid in a haze for what felt like hours. Her aching stomach desperate to be filled with food, her mouth watering from the scent of the meal. The exhaustion impacted from the adrenaline rush of chasing Thorfinn wearing her out, fighting back her tears using the last of her energy. She watched Thorfinn's sleeping face a while longer, his eyes red and puffy from crying, but he was lost to a comatose sleep in which he wouldn't wake for some time. She only hoped his current dreams were more peaceful than the last. Soon she slid from the bed, assuring he was wrapped up and walked towards the kitchen where Helga was finishing the last of the stew. Rubbing her eyes of sleep and preparing for dinner, tonight would be a morbidly silent evening, the weight of Thors death lingering on their minds. Pottering around the kitchen to find the equipment they needed, helping her mother serve up bowls and bread. She couldn't shake that devastating image of Thorfinn's sobbing face, his small hands hammering against her body, all the rage he poured onto her. She may have been holding onto a squirming snake looking to attack her, the way he snarled his jaws. Looking for someone to blame, looking for someone to vent his grief onto. Such a small child, now he would look to her for answers and help, someone to lead the way along the difficult journey of growing up. She would now replace their father as the role model he admired, the person who would keep Thorfinn safe, how to fight and how to farm.

The house seemed emptier without her fathers presence, knowing his spirit had truly departed to Valhalla. She would no longer hear her father's soft voice, those gentle brown eyes that were always so full of love for his family. The giant hands that had done so much damage and yet were always so comforting, reaching out to ease their tears. Hear his stories around the fire or be able to help him tend to the sheep, all of those tender memories was all she had left of him. Flashing through her mind like lightening, pooling together like a story inside of her mind. Soon the low candlelight of the room became blurred, her vision becoming unfocused, wondering if the wick was growing low. Her face dampening as tears rolled down her cheeks, reaching up to catch a tear on her finger as they continued to spill down her face. The tears she refused to let Thorfinn see had now broken the dam, unable to be controlled any longer, wishing to be free.

Helga approached her daughter, wrapping her arms around her affectionately, she was so proud of her daughter. Despite the chaos, despite their hardships and despite this terrible loss, she was still a strong and helpful woman. She ran after her brother without a second thought and brought him home once he was calm. She helped place him to bed and tried her hardest to be of help despite her own pain. She could relax now, she had done enough, they would get through tomorrow and tonight, but whatever the future held they would soon see. "That's enough Ylva, you've done well" she soothed, rubbing her daughters back and stroking her wavy blonde hair. Ylva had inherited a darker blonde than herself, but inherited her fathers soft yet thick waves. She resembled her father so much in so many ways, yet she would never realize it.

Ylva whimpered, curling her body against her mother as she sobbed against her shoulder, gripping her tightly like when she was a child. Woken in the night by bad dreams that plagued her mind, only this was a bad dream that would never fade. The aching sadness of the loss of her father beginning to consume her, swallowing her whole and dragging her into its depths. This empty grief gnawing at her like a poisonous beast, filling her and numbing all of her senses, blinding her from reality. This was all that was left of their broken family, ahe had to protect her mother, she had to protect her brother, she couldn't lose anyone else.

* * *

**Þetta er bara draumur, þú ert öruggur-It's just a dream, you are safe**

**Ég hata þig, það er þér að kenna-I hate you, It's your fault**


End file.
